


Make Art, Not War

by bean_me_up



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Glitter, M/M, Malex Week 2020, arts and crafts, bird-induced chaos, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bean_me_up/pseuds/bean_me_up
Summary: "This is a ten foot table, boys. You gotta share.""Oh, come on, Iz. This ass--""Language, Michael. There are kids.""--shows up late, demands to take my table, and you're taking his side?""Lots of the tables are shared by two different craft stations!" Isobel rolls her eyes, gesturing around at the fair."Isobel, the vegetable painting booth gets their own table, but your own brother doesn't?""Kids love painting with vegetables. Take a note from the kids, and learn to share."
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 9
Kudos: 96





	Make Art, Not War

Michael Guerin is a coward. He would much rather be spending his Saturday fixing up cars at the shop, then heading over to the Wild Pony for a few drinks. Instead, he is awake at 8AM, arranging art supplies on a table for the hordes of screaming children who are about to show up, all because he can't say no to his sister. Or his brother. And when they both turned on him, asking (well, Isobel was _demanding_ ) that he take over Max's booth for the community art fair, he couldn't say no. He cursed Max's higher-ups for sending him for some training out of town the _exact_ day of the art fair.

Still, Michael's a man of his word, so he dutifully hauls boxes of paper and cardboard and glitter and yarn and god knows what else out of his truck and starts arranging them on the table Isobel had aggressively steered him to. He may not be the most artistic man on the planet, but he's an engineer at heart, so he sets up his table for efficiency. Everything's neat and in its place, and he takes a minute to appreciate his work before the kids _descend._

* * *

Somewhere between his coffee machine breaking, Greg cancelling at the last second with sniffly, hoarse-throated apologies, and his box of popsicle sticks going missing, Alex Manes was having an _awful_ morning. To top it all off, he was _late._ The fair had started at 9, and it was pushing 9:30 already. He grabs his boxes, balancing them precariously into a stack, and staggers to the table he's supposed to be at.

Which is currently _covered_ in glittery paper and stickers and fuzzy yarn, surrounding by at least ten children all talking over one another. He makes his way around the back of the table, and drops his boxes with an emphatic _thud._

"This is _my_ table. Get out."

"The hell do you mean ' _your table.'_ I've been here since 8 and the event organizer _herself_ told me this was my table."

"Table 23, right?"

"Yes."

" _My_ table." Alex triumphantly shoves the slip of paper with his table assignment on it in Michael's face.

"I've been here _longer._ And I've got a crowd!" Michael gestures at the crowd of children happily cutting and gluing colorful crafting material together. He turns away from Alex for a second to help a little girl uncap her glue stick. Alex refuses to be moved.

"You know what? Why don't you call the event organizer, since you know her ' _personally'_ and let's ask her to settle this."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

* * *

"This is a ten foot table, boys. You gotta share."

"Oh, come _on_ , Iz. This ass--"

"Language, Michael. There are kids."

"--shows up _late,_ demands to take _my_ table, and you're taking _his_ side?"

"Lots of the tables are shared by two different craft stations!" Isobel rolls her eyes, gesturing around at the fair.

"Isobel, the _vegetable painting booth_ gets their own table, but your own brother doesn't?"

"Kids _love_ painting with vegetables. Take a note from the kids, and learn to _share_." She turns on her heel and walks away, ordering some poor minion about via walkie-talkie.

Alex crosses his arms. "Look, if you just move your stuff to that half of the table, I'll keep to my half."

Michael glares at him and starts moving his stuff. He doesn't bother cleaning up the glitter still stuck to the table. After all, it _is_ on Alex's half.

* * *

Alex and Michael don't speak for the next two hours. They keep to their respective sides of the table, completely ignoring each other as they instruct kids on how to make their respective projects. Things are going smoothly, for the most part. If Alex knocks over a box of popsicle sticks that was encroaching on his half of the table, and if Michael steals glue stick caps from Alex's side, leaving all the glue to dry out in the hot sun, who's really keeping score?

Their shared table starts attracting a crowd, over a dozen kids elbowing each other for room to work. When a curious bird lands right on Michael's station, knocking over a cup of paint, sending the children scattering backwards, screaming, both Michael and Alex jump into action.

Alex quickly shoos the bird away and tries to contain the paint situation, while Michael rounds the table to save the kids' art projects from the mess of purple paint spreading across the table.

By the time the paint's been cleaned and the kids are back to work, Alex and Michael both have purple stains all over their clothes and hands, and Michael's inexplicably ended up with glitter all over his hair.

Michael flops dramatically back into his folding chair, running a hands through his curls and grimacing when he's showered in golden sparkles. Alex has the _audacity_ to grin at his misfortune.

"Something funny, Manes?"

He tries very hard to stop smiling and shakes his head. "Nope."

"Uhuh."

Alex takes in Michael's appearance, paint splatters adorning all of his clothes. "You know, if you want to go clean up, I can hold down the fort for a few minutes."

Michael wants to say _no, I will not be leaving my station to the enemy,_ but considers the mess of his clothes, and figures he should try to get the purple out of his belt buckle before it became a permanent fixture. He nods at Alex and walks off without another word.

* * *

It takes a solid ten minutes of scrubbing to get the paint out, and another five staring mournfully at the glitter embedded in his curls before he resigns himself to his fate and starts to head back to the booth. Michael weaves his way through the crowds, buys himself a sympathy popsicle, then gets back to his half of the table.

He stops short. Alex has _cleaned_ every inch of it, all traces of purple gone. The kids are organized, happily working, and all the materials are stacked in to neat piles. Michael stares at Alex, wide-eyed.

"Did you--"

"The mess was spilling onto _my_ half."

Michael is speechless. He sits down in his chair, splits his popsicle into two, and hands a half to Alex as a silent thank you.

* * *

Giving Alex a popsicle is maybe a little bit of a bad idea. Don't get him wrong, he's happy with their truce, but watching him lick drops of bright orange juice off the melting treat is making Michael forget exactly how annoying he was all morning. His enemy is _not_ allowed to be this attractive. Michael distracts himself by throwing himself into craft-table-manning. But soon enough, the afternoon lull hits, and the booth is all but empty on both sides.

"So what's the project?" Alex asks, running a hand through his hair. His very nice, un-glittery hair.

"Uh. Books. Kids are making their own blank books. My brother's a writer, and he's the one who was supposed to be running this thing."

Alex laughs. "Same. Mine called me this morning and asked me to take over." He looks around at their booth, considering something. "You wanna build a robot?"

"A what?"

"That's my project. A robot sculpture made out of recycled materials."

"Bring it on."

"Ok, so you have to bend the wire into shape like _this. . "_ Alex's hands are on his, guiding his fingers. Michael is just trying to remember how to breathe.

By the time Michael has a finished sculpture in front of him, Alex is sitting close enough that some of the glitter from Michael's hair has transferred to him. Michael looks at him, reaching up a hand to swipe some of it off his cheek. Alex watches his hand and licks his lips. The air stills around them. Michael leans in just a little bit and Alex closes the gap between them, carding a hand through Michael's curls, pulling him close, covering them both in a shower of gold glitter.

Michael pulls back, slowly. "Hey, Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"You're on my side of the table."

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on [tumblr!](https://stars-and-sunshine.tumblr.com/)


End file.
